


you didn't even see the signs

by k0skareeves



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst and Feels, Childhood Friends, F/M, Heavy Angst, Marriage Proposal, Mutual Pining, Romance, Sansa has been through A LOT, Unresolved Romantic Tension, like HEAVY so be advised, westeros is basically europe, yet Jon is an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:09:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25885603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k0skareeves/pseuds/k0skareeves
Summary: Tumblr prompt: "I could never give you peace."
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 31
Kudos: 86





	you didn't even see the signs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amymel86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/gifts).



> hey guys! this is for amymel, who was kind enough to request a prompt based on a ts lyrics from folklore. i hope you enjoy this, darling!
> 
> also i wanna point out that this fic is heavily based on a little women (2019) scene between amy and laurie, but this IS NOT a little women au. i just really like that scene and i think it fits well with the lyrics that amy chose, so i used it as a base for their dialogue.
> 
> ALSO this is sad!!!!! i'm sorry in advance :(
> 
> any mistakes are my own!!!

“Jon?”

“Hmm?”

“When will you go back North?”

He groans. “Oh, not this again, Sans. We were having such a lovely day.”

They are, in fact. It's the middle of a summer afternoon in the Capitol, and Jon lays over a yellow blanket, embroidered with small purple flowers. Sansa sits besides him, working on an embroidery while they talk. She's wearing the most lovely blue dress, and he hasn't been able to take his eyes off of her since he picked her up at the hotel hours ago. Her skirts took up almost all the space in the small carriage, but he hardly minded, enjoying the closeness to her, the same as he's doing now.

“I am only being serious. You know your great uncle is expecting you.”

He sighs. “Soon, then.”

“You’ve said that half a dozen times in the past month.”

“I’ll only plague him if I go, so I might as well stay a little longer and plague you.”

She chuckles, a sweet sound that he has come to love. “You’re a menace, Jon Snow.”

“Indeed I am. And it’s good that I’m to be leaving soon, I suppose. I could neve give you peace. Although, I think it actually agrees with you, all this menace that I seem to cause.”

He reaches for her cheeks, holding her face between his thumb and his index and middle finger, squeezing in a playful manner. Her skin is soft under his touch, her cheeks warm from the sun, and she lets out a little gasp, followed by laughter as she begins to fight him.

“Stop! Stop it!”

She takes hold of his hand, pushing it away from her face, but doesn’t let go. Their laughter dies down. Their fingers stay intertwined on her lap, resting over her needlework, and he dares to stroke a thumb against her knuckles, eyes never leaving hers. Silence stretches for just a few seconds, yet to Jon it feels like hours have passed, so lost that he is in her beauty. A flush paints her cheeks pink and he’s tempted to lift his hand again, only to trace that blush with his fingers, to properly feel the warmth of her face beneath his palm.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m looking at you.”

Her blush deepens at his words. Lips parting, Sansa lets out a small, short breath, but he notices all the same. Her eyes drop to her lap, to their joined hands over her embroidery, and he wonders if he should let go. He probably should. He has no business touching her for this long, no business taking her hand in his, feeling the softness of her skin under his palm, but he doesn’t care. Sansa makes no move to separate their fingers either, and for a moment he allows himself to believe that she enjoys his touch, that she even craves for it, in a way similar as he craves for her.

“I mean, what do you  _ intend _ to do?”

“With life?”

She nods. “Yes.”

“For now, I’ll simply stay here and bother you some more.”

“Oh, Jon, you know that’s a waste of time.”

“And what would you have me do, then?”

She looks up at him. Silence stretches again, although this time for a shorter moment, and he knows what she’ll say before she opens her mouth.

“Go work for your great uncle and make something of yourself.”

A sigh escapes him before she’s finished speaking. He releases her hand, rising to his feet, annoyance taking over him despite his wish to behave better in her presence. “You’re not playing fair, Sansa.”

“I don’t think it is such an unreasonable thing to suggest.”

“No, you wouldn’t think so.”

“You really don’t have to be so difficult all the time.”

At this, he turns. She’s standing as well, just a few steps behind him, holding the embroiment in her hands, needle still working on the little red dragon she has surely meant to give him, a sympathetic look in her eyes. Maybe she pities him. Poor Jon Snow, thoroughly lost this time, unable to keep hold of his whims long enough to do something better with his life. The thought only makes him angry, and he snaps, without meaning to. “Oh, and I assume Harry is never difficult with that lose temper of his.”

There’s confusion in her eyes at the mention of Harry's name. Jon’s not surprised, he hardly ever mentions the man, most certainly not when he’s with her. Sansa quickly recovers, her stare turning harsh as she replies. “He can most certainly be difficult and I’ve never once pretended to enjoy it. But he’s gotten better at behaving now. Growing up seems to do that to people.”

He feels his own cheeks flush. They say nothing else for a while, staring at each other, icy blue locked with stormy grey. Jon breathes out, breaks their gaze, runs a hand through his curls. His feet bring him closer to her, hands shoved inside his pockets, still looking away when he asks.

“What’s he doing?”

His eyes move to watch her, but her gaze drops back to her work, hands busy with the needle. “He’s in Sunspear for business. He’ll be back in a couple of weeks.”

“I see.”

_ He’s working and making something of himself, unlike you.  _ Sansa doesn’t say that, of course, and she never would, but it’s her voice he hears in his head. Her voice telling him all the ways Harry Hardyng is right for her, despite his temper, despite his days of drinking and whoring around, because now he works and he courts her like a proper gentleman should, and he has the balls to be foward and fight for what he wants, unlike Jon. It’s a sour feeling in his mouth, knowing that people might look at him and see a man lesser than Harry Hardyng. No, not people. Just one person. Just the one, just Sansa.

The words leave him before he can help it.

“Don’t marry him.”

Her fingers go surprisingly still, hovering over the embroidery. She lifts her eyes to him. “What?”

Jon finds himself saying it louder, clearer, for himself and for her. “Don’t marry him.”

“Why?”

“Why? You know why.”

_ Because I love you.  _ She knows, she must. The whole of the Capitol must know by now. It’s obvious, he thinks, to anyone who’s paying attention, that the noname Snow, the Targaryen heir, the Bastard of the North has fallen madly in love with the lovely Sansa Stark. Four months together in King’s Landing, it’s all it took. Four months of playful menace and dull balls and walks in the park and endless laughter and now he can’t stop thinking about her, no matter how much he tries to, and he hasn't tried very hard, because loving her has proven to be surprisingly easy on his heart, and he likes that very much.

She seems frozen in place, lips half parted, her voice shaking in a way he doesn’t expect. “No.  _ No.” _

“Yes, Sansa.  _ Yes.” _

She shakes her head, her lower lip trembling. “No, Jon, stop it. You’re being mean.”

“What? How am I being mean?”

“No, Jon,  _ no.” _

“Sansa, I-”

She lifts a hand and he immediately goes quiet. “I am sorry that Ygritte died. I am, you know I am. I know how much that hurt you and I am so sorry that you had to go through that while still being so young. And I am sorry that Val rejected you. She never cared for me and I certainly never cared for her, but I know that must’ve hurt too, so I am sorry. That doesn’t mean it’s okay for you to do this. It most certainly isn't, Jon. I will not be the person you settle for just because you cannot have her.  _ I won’t, _ I won’t do it.” A lonely tear rolls down her cheek, and she quickly brushes it off with the back of her hand. “I won’t, Jon. Not when I spent my entire life loving you.”

It's shock that keeps him still while she turns around, walking away without a glance back. The embroidery is on the ground, the needle surely lost in the tall grass. She’s already several steps ahead when he breaks from his trance, having the presence of mind to follow her.

“Sansa, wait.”

“No.”

He takes hold of her arm, turning her to face him, his other hand coming to rest on her cheek.

“Sansa, I love you too.”

She pushes his hand away. The tears fall freely now over her reddened cheeks. “You don’t, Jon! Heavens, you don’t! You think just because you’ve spent four months by my side avoiding all your responsibilities and nursing a broken heart back to health that means you know what it feels to love me? When you haven’t once looked at me before? When you’ve never  _ seen me _ for who I am?”

He stares at her, and words won’t leave him. He can only swallow, and watch, as she keeps speaking, voice rushed yet low, still remembering her manners even when she's clearly so angry at him.

“Tell me, why now? Why now, huh? Why now, when I am doing my best to get engaged, when I am doing my best to make my family proud, to save our home and help Bran and fix everything we lost, why now? Why not before? Is it because you can’t stand Harry, is that it? Because you have a silly hatred for him and you can’t bear to see him take something that could be yours?”

“That’s not-”

“No, Jon, I’ve been in love with you ever since the day I met you. Ever since I was a silly twelve year old and you were running around with my siblings in our backyard, I've loved you since then. And we grew up together, all of us, and never once did you give me a moment of your time, not when I lost Mother and Father and Robb, never once did you bother with showing me more than the expected amount of kindness one would show to a sister, and yet everyone knew of how hard I was falling, so you must’ve known too. Arya, Bran, Rickon, even Theon, they all knew and they all teased me about it endlessly so you must’ve known as well and yet you never did anything, never said anything. So it’s either that you were never interested, which I can understand because why would you ever be interested in a silly girl like me, or you never even saw me in the first place, not well enough to know how much I care for you, and well, that’s just depressing, is it not? To think that I’ve spent my entire life loving someone who never had a clue, who never even thought of the possibility of my feelings for them. And now you’re here, asking me not to marry another man, a man that has made his interest in me perfectly clear, a man who is more than capable of providing for me and my siblings, a man that I could learn to love with time, if only I would allow myself to get over you. Yet you stand there and ask me not to marry him, either toying with my feelings or being so aloof that you actually thought it would be okay to speak of such things when I’m on the verge of being engaged. And since I have no wish to hurt myself more than I already have, I suggest you let go of me so I can leave before you decide to tell me which one is it.”

Sansa doesn't wipe her tears. They fall, slowly, making their way down her chin, to her neck and even the bare skin of her collarbones. Jon wants to wipe them away for her, wants to offer her his handkerchief, wants to help her ease her breathing to a nice, slow rhythm, instead of the short, rushed breaths that are leaving her parted lips. He feels powerless, though, by her words, and by the shocking truth that he in fact had no clue of Sansa's love for him, which only makes him feel worse.

“I’m sorry.”

She closes her eyes. “I’m sure you are. Everyone is always sorry. Now let me go.”

And he does. His hand releases her arm, fingers missing her instantly, and she’s turning before he can say something else, before he has the chance to make peace with what he just heard. He watches her go, quick steps taking her further and further away from him, the distance growing bigger along with the hole in his chest that seems to have appeared with her absence.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading everyone!
> 
> fyi in my head they get together after this. it felt right to end the fic here though, and a few other things need to happen before they actually get together but they most certainly do!!!!
> 
> hopefully this wasn't too upsetting :(
> 
> come find me on tumblr if you feel like it!
> 
> comments are always appreciated <3
> 
> Xxxxxxxxx


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